Stakeout
by Litaraniel
Summary: Agent Howell is covertly watching Count D. Or so he thinks… [An outtake from OC-centric WIP "Of wolf and...", which I'm undecided about. Slightly AU, branching off somewhere before Volume 9.] Currently an oneshot, although probably can be seen in continuity with "Wild strawberry". Contains slashy hints - at Vesca and D the second (oh dear, I wasn't clear enough on that...)


Disclaimer: _All "Petshop of Horrors" characters and plot belong to the esteemed Akino Matsuri. No monetary gain out of it, just my own selfish pleasure._

_The thing for Vesca to call his nemesis 'Dee' belongs to whoever did this first. _

* * *

Agent Howell watched the entrance to "Count D's petshop" with tired determination. Finally, he tracked Dee before the other could flee. This time, Howell was going to get him. So he was going to be quiet and patient. Unfortunately, it took time to produce the arrest warrant and finish all the formalities. In the meantime, Howell was going to make sure that his suspect doesn't get anywhere.

He set his stakeout around the corner from the actual doors, opting to observe the reflection in the display on the opposite side of the street, which at this angle was almost as good as a mirror. It wasn't very smart to keep watch somewhere he could be easily noticed, especially since Dee knew his face so well.

Although, considering how ridiculously hard it was to track the elusive little bastard, Dee seemed to feel far too comfortable and safe in this city. Howell scowled grimly, stubbing out yet another cigarette butt.

_You haven't changed, Dee. Same dresses, same smiles, same monsters. Even this poor detective guy, so much like I used to be. Did you need a replacement, or just have a thing for blonds? Do you really need someone at your orbit? And no, I'm not comparing you to a sun. You're a dead star, a black hole. You attract, consume, and then destroy. What will be with him after you chew him and spit him out? How many more lives you had wrecked? _

The sun was setting, dimming the reflections in the display, and Howell had to look intently to correctly make out the shapes he saw.

If only he had an idea how monumentally wrong he was, he wouldn't let himself get so focused.

* * *

He didn't feel or hear anything suspicious, anything that might alert him, before a thin, but surprisingly strong hand shot over his shoulder and grasped his chin, while something sharp was pressed to his neck from the other side, straight over the jugular. Howell froze and held his breath.

He recognized that soft mocking voice by the first sound, by the gentle exhale next to his ear, almost before he heard the words.

"Leave my child alone, Vesca."

"What..?" the sentence didn't seem to process in his brain.

The voice chuckled lightly.

"The current keeper of Count D's Petshop is my son. Not me. I thought you'd be able to tell the difference. For example, I had never cut my hair."

Howell's mind summoned a picture he captured in that dark underwater cave, ages ago. Condescending smile on that infuriatingly beautiful face framed by black hair, long wet strands clinging to the slim frame, touching the stone he was sitting on.

"Honestly," the voice continued with an indignant huff. "In the last five generations I'm the only one who wears it long. One would think you'd notice that, what with making your thorough research. Not to mention that my son's eyes are of different colour. Tsk-tsk-tsk, Vesca."

"Dee," Howell acknowledged.

"Finally," another chuckle.

Howell felt more uneasily with each passing moment.

Dee's hand suddenly shifted from his chin upwards, firmly covering his mouth. Cold thin pressure on his neck increased warningly.

Around the corner, in another universe, a sound of doors being opened was accompanied with a melodic chime. Some footsteps followed, and a soft voice, a twin of the one that grew silent next to Howell's ear, gently called, "Goodnight, Detective."

Together they listened as the footsteps retreated, then a car engine started not afar, and whirr of tyres on tarmac disappeared in the distance. Fanning Howell's ear with his warm breath, Dee stayed silent in company of his mysterious thoughts, while Howell tried to take a hold of this sudden new knowledge.

_Five generations. Never cut my hair. Different colour._

Dee was here. In the petshop was… another. Dee's son, if that wasn't a lie.

He had been wrong.

He automatically concluded that if all those "Count D" characters look identical then there are no fathers and children, just one person making up covers for their eternal youth. He never thought that both were possible.

Tsk-tsk-tsk, indeed.

Somewhere in another universe, around the corner, the petshop doors closed with another chime.

Dee sighed.

His hand left Vesca's mouth and slid back to his chin in a gentle, almost caressing move, before resuming its firm grip. Howell did his best to ignore the tingling sensation in his lips.

"What do you want?"

"As I said: leave my child alone. I want my beloved son to be well and happy. You seem bent on making this difficult for him. Subsequently, I feel I must intervene."

A sharp end of unseen weapon dug into Howell's neck slightly to accent the point with a thin prickle of pain. Howell shifted uneasily.

"I had no idea you got a kid."

"Ah. He was born before we first met. My father raised him." Dee sighed again, almost sadly. "He's different, my beautiful child. So compassionate. And still so young. I'm worried about him, as you can see. Not to mention," the voice lowered, making Howell shudder, "that the diversion of your attention is most... _unwelcome_."

He nearly sputtered.

"You – what?!"

Yet another chuckle.

"Ah, Vesca, how about we take this little chat somewhere more private?"

Dee's hand left his chin. Using the opening, Howell ducked from the weapon as fast as he could, only to hear a hiss of air and feel a fragrant cloud around his head. He didn't have time to hold his breath.

Next moment he felt dizziness hit like a hammer, his arms fell weakly down his body, knees nearly buckled.

Dee laughed.

Thin hands gripped Howell's shoulders, steadying him, and began leading him away from the petshop, towards a black car that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Several stray silken strands fell over Dee's shoulder and brushed Howell's hand as they walked. He suppressed an irrational urge to run them through his fingers.

"I'll show you my new suite," Dee talked, calm and conversational. "And my lab. You'll appreciate."

Howell groaned as his adversary effortlessly pushed him to the car's back seat and slid easily next to him.

"Damn you. I hate you, Dee."

He received a warmest smile in return.

"I know."

* * *

_I am aware that I should be writing "Not quite" instead, but it takes time to get the Count out of the corner I backed him into._


End file.
